THE COST OF BETRAYAL

The meeting was set at a high-end underground poker club in Atlantic City. I was wired, sweating through my cheap suit, practicing my lines. I had to play the part I actually was: a broken, desperate man who had lost everything and wanted revenge on the system.

When I sat down at Petrov's table, the air was thick with cigar smoke and menace. Petrov was a giant of a man with cold, dead eyes.

"Mr. Carter," Petrov rumbled. "I hear you are no longer welcome on Wall Street."

"Wall Street threw me to the wolves," I lied smoothly, channeling my genuine anger at my own mistakes into fake anger at the system. "I have the infrastructure to move your five million without raising a single flag. But I want twenty percent."

Petrov studied me. "You were framed by the Cole woman, yes? Why should I trust a man who was outsmarted by a pretty face?"

"Because she left a backdoor open," I bluffed, praying the FBI was recording every word. "I know where the original logs are, Petrov. I know she worked for you. You use me to move this money, or I burn this whole network down."

Petrov laughed, a chilling, humorless sound. "You have courage, Carter. I'll give you that." He leaned in. "We will do business. Tomorrow, my associate will bring you the routing numbers."